


Risk

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Breeding Kink, Exhibitionism If You Squint, F/M, Fluff, Language Kink, filthy smut, subtle d/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: You love it when Bucky talks dirty. That’s a given.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 386





	Risk

**Author's Note:**

> Y’ALL, I AM IN A _MOOD_ THIS WEEK, OKAY??? HOPE YOU ENJOY. FUCK.

You love it when Bucky talks dirty. That’s a given.

He does it in English, mostly, but sometimes he likes to play a game with you – likes to break out his repertoire of languages and catch you off guard. It’s always at the most inopportune times, too: on a mission, usually, or in public. Places where he knows you’re stuck with him whispering the dirtiest things imaginable into your ear, things you just can’t understand. 

You love it. He knows.

So he ambushes you – cool metal fingers dig into the flesh of your hip as he murmurs something absolutely terrible into your ear, hot breath fanning against sensitive skin. A shiver wracks through your body at the low timbre of his voice, and although you can’t understand a lick of what he’s said, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What does _that_ mean?” you ask breathily, looking up at him through your lashes. 

The two of you are in the communal kitchen prepping your meals for the upcoming week. No one else is around, but that’s not to say it’ll stay that way.

You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes – always such a lovely blue, but dark with the carnal implication in his words, whatever they were. 

Back in English, he teases, “Guess.”  


“That I’m cute,” you suggest, playing along even though he’s very clearly turned you on. “That I’m incredible. That you want me to have your chubby little babies.” 

A joke.

Bucky’s eyes widen for a split second, and he stares at you – really _stares –_ and that’s when you realize your joke isn’t too far off the mark. The flush blooming on his cheeks only confirms it, which instantly sets your body aflame.

“Bu—Bucky,” you sputter, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Don’t—” Distant footsteps sound from the hallway, and you hiss, “Don’t _say that_.”

A split second of silence offers you a chance to hear the thumping of your heartbeat in your ears. The footsteps slowly disappear down the corridor, not that you particularly care because the edge of the counter is pressing into the small of your back and he’s caged you in. With his arms on either side of your body, flesh and vibranium, you’re trapped.

You love it. He knows.

“Why not?” Bucky whispers, holding your gaze with determination and _holy hell, he’s serious_.

Licking your lips does nothing to alleviate the sudden dryness in your throat.

“We can’t,” you croak, but it’s a lie.

Oh, yes, you can.

“You’ve thought about it,” Bucky whispers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jawline. “I know you have, ‘cause I have. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

He’s not wrong.

The breath hitches in your throat when he adds something else in another language you don’t speak, dulcet tones ghosting against your skin, but this time you don’t need feel the need to ask. Even you can tell what he’s said.

“Yeah,” you say in a delicate rasp. “Yeah, okay.”

Except you’re in just the right part of your cycle where you _can’t_.

Your consent is all Bucky needs before he lifts you onto the counter and nudges your legs open for him to slot in between. His lips and tongue ravish your neck as his hands grab your ass to pull you forward to the edge of the counter – and then you feel exactly how much he wants this, too. He’s rock hard, aching, confined by coarse black denim that feels entirely too good against the damp fabric of your panties.

Oh, yes, you can.

“It might actually take,” you blurt out, but in the heat of the moment that’s exactly what you want. You _want_ it to take.

Bucky suddenly rips one of his hands away from your ass to palm himself, keep himself from blowing too soon. It’s an unexpected admission from you, one that’s sent him spiralling right along with you.

“Christ,” he swears, low and rough, and the look he gives you makes you clench desperately around nothing. He _is_ serious. “You can’t just—” Cool fingers curl around the crotch of your panties and he yanks them to the side – almost tears them off of you in the process. “Gotta be inside you if you’re gonna say things like that, doll.”

Even you can smell the unmistakable tang of your arousal in the air. He slides two fingers from his free hand through your slick folds, as if testing to see how wet you are, and when you see his brows raise in surprise it makes your face flush even hotter.

Then the surprise gives way to smugness, and that’s when you know he’s found you out.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he says, smugness seeping into his voice, too.

An order.

“I— I want—” you stammer, but it’s all you can get out before his fingertips brush your clit, making you jolt, making you forget what you were about to say.

“You’re this _soaked_ ,” he puts emphasis on the word just as his fingertips dip just inside your entrance, “and I’ve barely even touched you. Why’s that, sweetheart?”

Taunts that make you shiver.

“You know why,” you try to sass, but it just comes out weak.

You both know that’s the wrong answer, but Bucky rewards you anyway. He slides those two fingers deep inside you with ease, before he curls them in just the way that has you keening and your eyelids fluttering shut, especially when he leans back in to suck a bruise on your neck.

A mark. A claim.

It’s that thought that makes your back arch instinctively, makes you press your body closer to his.

Then he lets your panties go with a _snap_ against the inner junction of your thigh to embed his free hand in your hair, and he uses his grip to pull your head back. The sharp, pleasurable pain wrenches a strangled cry from your throat.

“I _said_ ,” he breathes into your ear, “why’s that, sweetheart?”

Another rough curl of his two fingers inside of you, and you whimper.

In this moment, you want him and every fucking thing he’s willing to provide. Even this. _Especially_ this.

“Fuck me,” you plead.

You both know it’s more than that. 

It’s a bad idea, absolutely, but _god_ is it a good answer and you know it’s the right one because he lets go of your hair to strip the clothing from his lower half. Deft vibranium works to unbutton and unzip his pants in seconds before his boxers hit the floor. His cock springs free, and he’s hard – too hard – positively aching for you, for this, for what you want from him.

But Bucky pauses, then, no matter how desperate the two of you are. He meets your eyes and just _stops_ , and of course you can’t help but be mesmerized by the tenderness and care in those beautiful baby blues. 

A silent question: _are you sure?_

You’re not, but it’s not like the two of you aren’t prepared. You’ve been together for ages. In this moment, it just makes sense.

“Let’s make a baby,” you say breathlessly.

That’s when he kisses you again, slower this time – soft and sweet and gentle, which quickly morphs back into another passionate frenzy when he finally decides to put you out of your misery. Bucky slides home just as his tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wanting and _dominant_.

Another claim.

You can’t help but gasp at the pleasurable stretch, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re squeezing me like a vice, doll,” he breathes against your lips, and he stays still. “You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

He’s barely even started and you can already feel your walls constricting around him, trying to milk him for every drop he’s worth.

“God, _please_ —”

Bucky watches your face as he slowly withdraws from your velvet heat – far too slow for your liking, but you know he’s trying to hold himself back from finishing too soon. Then he buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust, punching the breath from your lungs, and you reconsider.

“B-Bucky,” you stammer, arms flying around his neck as he fucks into you, his tight grip on your hips leaving bruises.

You don’t care about that, either.

Your breaths come out short, laboured as he slams over and over into your g-spot – he knows the angle, knows what you like, knows your body even better than you do. One of his hands slides up your abdomen to palm your breast through your shirt, and then higher to the back of your neck – cold metal chill against sweat-slickened skin, baby hairs on the back of your neck catching in between the plates.

You don’t care, because all you can focus on is him.

The way he’s looking at you holds you captive, holds you steady – holds you _there_ until suddenly you’re hovering over the edge, just waiting to fall, but you know he’ll catch you.

“Are you sure?” he vocalizes this time, hoarsely, and you can tell he’s close, too. There’s sweat dotting his brow, and his thrusts are getting more and more frantic.

A warning.

“Fill me up,” you gasp out, legs tightening around his waist to pull him closer. “Give me a baby, Bucky, _please_.”

And then he’s kissing you again, all teeth and tongues, absolutely pounding you into oblivion until the hot coil in your abdomen finally breaks. You pitch forward and clutch at his shoulders, bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries as your walls clench down around him, desperately trying to milk him dry. That’s what sends him over the edge; the velvety squeeze of your slick heat has him slamming inside of you as far as he can go, once, twice, and then comes a delicious burst of liquid heat that marks your insides like a brand.

Another claim.

“Jesus,” he swears under his breath. 

Dazedly, you crack your eyes open to find out what’s the matter. Lips parted, face flushed, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, Bucky looks absolutely _wrecked._ He’s not looking at your face, but down at your abdomen, where he’s just emptied himself inside of you.

Red marks all over your hips. They’ll turn dark later, but you don’t care.

Then he meets your eyes again, absolutely awed by what the two of you have just done.

Another silent question: _You really think it’ll take?_

You respond with a shy smile and shrug a little, but you’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a _yeah._

A soft, sweet kiss is what finally seals the deal.


End file.
